


if he had dreamt hard enough

by sirnando



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: it would have come true





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> this is a collection of random snippets i wrote a long time ago that i decided to open up to ao3. they're not all rovinsky, some are just moments that he deserved to live through by himself

technically he could’ve taken the imperfect mitsus to the dump - get a couple of dollars for scrap metal. but after one stray cat inhabited one of them for the winter - cute ball of fur and meows that made kavinsky’s heart of lead turn into slightly softer rock - he decided maybe he could just keep them.

maybe for the sentiment, maybe for the multiple cats he found and brought into the forest for the winter. and maybe he used some extra dollars to buy dry cat food. maybe.


	2. two

joseph kavinsky as the hopeless romantic. as the one who scatters petals of stolen rose bouquets at the ends of unmade beds. as the one who writes love song lyrics on greasy burger napkins with pens running out of ink. as the one who stays up, eyes burning, with ronan all night. as the one who secretly pops migraine pills in the morning, washed down with breakfast beer. as the one who never says ‘i love you’ but can taste it on the tip of his tongue.


	3. three

what did ronan love the most about kavinsky? the unpredictableness. that he could seethe venom through his chapped lips in one moment and then have flower buds tumbling off his tongue the next.

what did kavinsky love the most about ronan? knife sharpened hands that turned into cotton the second they touched. miracles.


	4. four

kavinsky was all cuts and bruises and scars above his eyebrow, between fingers, on achilles heels. he didn’t mind them, to be honest. preferred the natural tattoos rather than the ink stained ones. preferred natural healing remedies rather than synthetic: salt, spit, teeth grinding. 

however it was ronan who introduced him to gauze, soap, neosporin - agents in speedy healing and marklessness. it was only ronan who was allowed to wrap a nasty gash up. only ronan allowed to kiss the cuts, bruises, scars above his eyebrow, between his fingers, on achilles heels, away.


	5. five

kavinsky met ronan for the first time in an empty lot. when he was returning from a race, taking shortcuts (longer routes) home and he stumbled upon ronan - bleeding nose ronan with a stain creating a pattern on his shirt, knuckles covered in cuts and spit.

kavinsky stopped only to throw a dirty wifebeater at him, to lock the memory of his face into his head. because anyone who made pain look stunning was worth kavinsky’s time.


	6. six

kavinsky was an exceptionally good artist for those who cared to notice.

the knife designs on his mitsu? all him. hand painted in a dream. over and over and over again until the perfect pattern was erected. a hundred white canvases with a hundred amateur mistakes.

and for the times that he went to school, his notebooks became filled with textbook sketches. eyes full of stars. heads in the mouths of monsters. knuckles traced with ink and gasoline. a thousand laughing faces of indiscernible people. features didn’t matter when it would never happen. blood flowing out of ears. rose and thorn wrapped hearts.

he burned the pages which became too personal in gleaming green fires and memorized the textures of calloused sketchbook covers and drawing pencils in art stores only to pull them out of his dreams and throw them into the green flames along with the rest of everything no one would recognize.


	7. seven

the thing no one knew about was the sweaty palm syndrome that kavinsky had whenever he saw ronan. no one saw the quick wipe on the jeans before he made contact with ronan’s arm, back, leg. before he pointed a finger gun to his temple.

no one knew about the polka dotted scars occupying his forearm, from cigarette burns for all the times he thought about ronan for a few minutes past acceptable.

or about the busted inner cheeks he had - flesh constantly knawed at, tattered, bloody and fresh. for every time he choked back a smile with ronan.

and no one knew about the blood threading his knuckles every time he smashed the grime stained mirror in his room. one mirror replaced for every three shatters he engraved into the glass. one for love, one for attachment and the last for ‘never’.

no one asked. no one cared to.


	8. eight

kavinsky was no enthusiast of flowers because they suggested sentimentality - a concept he’d grown allergic to most of the time. however if you forced him to choose a favorite he’d say “a fucking rose”.

smelled great, but was cursed with the inability to shed the thorns which cut anyone who touched too often, even if it hated itself for it.


	9. nine

kavinsky had scars on the back of his thighs from where he had practiced his knife skills on them.

kavinsky had his nose tipped a few degrees too much to the left where proko had practiced his punching skills spontaneously.

kavinsky had three broken knuckles from practicing car hijacking on windshields before he could make his own.

and even with all that, nothing cut, broke or scarred as grotesquely as the ‘never’ that escaped ronan’s lips. because he had not practiced for that.


	10. ten

kavinsky liked to think that he didn’t have a lot of flaws (or his ego made him think that), but he did have one he would acknowledge (but only to himself):

the tally marks he had tattooed - one for every overly ass thing he said - were starting to take up more space than imagined. thus he was flawed in approximations


	11. eleven

the reason kavinsky decided to thieve from his dreams was because his dreams were the only place where he didn’t have prying eyes constantly watching him. “wow what an ass” “wow what a waste” in general, always a mass of “wow” this and “wow” that.

in the dreams, it was in and out. that’s all it took. and since kavinsky wasn’t much for explanations, for once, it was nice to be alone


	12. twelve

a kavinsky that loves to hold hands. it was a source of stability. permanence. someone was grounding him to reality.

fingers wrapped around his own. tingling released in the pit of stomach that whispered You’re Not Alone. I’ll Hold You [Here].

holding hands until the palms grow sweaty but neither side is willing to let go. 

…… three, four, five kisses for each knuckle. one for each I Will Not Leave You.

holding hands as security. an intimacy contract. the fine line between life and falling off, over the cliff.

“with me or against me” his empty hand held out towards ronan’s disappearing figure. 

he could have been saved.

**Author's Note:**

> my heart bleeds for him


End file.
